This poem was just published in Red Eft Review. My thanks to editor Corey D. Cook for taking three of my poems for publication!
Mother hangs her tea bags on the door,
winds the strings around the knob. Drips,
like paw prints, stain the old wood floor.
I don’t know why she does it. She never
uses them again. After her tea she gets
the big pot and scrubs vegetables for soup.
Her knife is rhythmic against the cutting board,
her felt slippers scuffing from counter to stove
and back again. I see her mouth move sometimes
as she sways, mincing, mincing her life.
Sarah Russell
First published in Red Eft Review
Painting by Dmitri Matkovski
For Poetry Pantry
Love the line … I see her mouth move sometimes.
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You can fill in the blanks of what she mutters under her breath…
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Chopping vegetables and mincing her life. I can see her, you painted the scene so clearly. Congrats on the publication of three poems!
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Thanks, Sherry. Yes, a red letter day.
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Yes, a familiar scene, a beautiful painting!
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Thanks a lot, Annell!
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I can see why this was published.
And the painting is poignant. Well chosen.
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Thank you very much, Yvonne. I love going out to Pinterest and Google to search for pictures to go with my posts.
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I recognize some odd behavior in my mother… such sadness when it’s time to mince your life…
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Thank Bjorn. Yes, mincing your life…
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An evocative memory that makes me think of the way we sometimes watch others, quietly, repeat actions that go on to become the frames of our memories and lives.
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A wonderful way to put it, Wyndolynne — frames for our memories!
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Some minuscule things people do never leave the memory, I can still remember my moms even though she’s been gone almost seventeen years. Lovely write.
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Yes, Vicki, and now I’m finding myself doing some of the same things. Most times a laugh. Sometimes, though…
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Very nice Sarah
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Thanks, Steve!
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Congratulations on the publication of your poems, Sarah! This one is so poignant. And I love the painting by Dmitri Matkovski, the perfect illustration.
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I loved several of the paintings I found by him. He’s a Russian painter.
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Congratulations. Your poem reminds me of my grandmother and her love of tea
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Thanks very much, KB!
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Mincing her life.. so unexpected and poignant. Congratulations on the publication, Sarah.
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Thanks, Rajani. I think especially our mother’s generation minced their lives.
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i love this. the tiniest rhythms of life.
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Yes, It’s a keeping time, isn’t it, Beth.
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Congratulations on the well-deserved publication. Brilliant poem, particularly that striking close.
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Thank you, Rosemary.
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This is so elegant and vividly drawn! 😊 Congratulations to you on the publication of three poems! ❤❤❤
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Thanks, Sanaa!
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This is beautifully sketched – and the close on the piece is stunning. Your writing is very authentic, Sarah … and thus, intensely compelling.
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Thank you so much, Wendy. High praise. You’re very kind.
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I like the observation in this poem but overriding everything is the sadness of change as her mother slowly enters another world entirely her own.
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Wow, Robin. I had not thought of that interpretation. And yes, it all fits. Thanks so much for your insight.
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Wonderful poem – so evocative. So seemingly simple, but not so. You put us right there in the kitchen. I’ve saved many a tea bag I didn’t reuse, but sometimes I do. This could easily jump start a short story or novel. We can imagine what she’d play on the radio, who would appear if there were a knock at the door. Thanks, Sarah and thanks to Corey Cook. I’m going to look it up on Red Eft, too.
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Thanks so much, Alarie. Yes, it could start a novel, couldn’t it. Hadn’t thought of that, but then, you know I don’t think in novel terms. Too little life left to start one of those! You’ll love Red Eft. Very fast turn around for poems. Rose Mary Boehm publishes there. That’s how I learned of the venue.
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This is a very nice piece, capturing the constriction of a life lived by rote and sliced into digestible pieces.
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What a wonderful interpretation Kestril. Thanks!
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I really love that first line. The moment I read it, I knew I was about to glimpse into a remarkable. And what makes the poem more wonderful is that the wonder come from seemingly simple things.
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Thank you so much, Magaly.
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